


Picture Perfect

by Eavenne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/F, First Impressions, Fluff, Nyotalia, Photography, Sightseeing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 20:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17536142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenne/pseuds/Eavenne
Summary: When Japan meets Switzerland for the first time, she realises that the other nation is nothing like she imagined.But perhaps that's all right.





	Picture Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Though this is set in the canonverse, human names are occasionally used.
> 
> Adelheid Zwingli = Switzerland  
> Sakura = Japan  
> Alice = Italy
> 
> Enjoy!

Italy always had an eye for beauty.

Weeks before Poland fell and the world erupted in outrage, Italy showed Japan her art collection. It was located in a small, cluttered room at one corner of Italy’s house; Japan wandered through it, her eyes darting from a red rose to a rouged lip to a ruby ring, marvelling at the little masterpieces.

Sometimes Italy would pause, and point out some of her own works with a proud grin. There, the sunset kissed a young girl’s cheek; there, the stars shone in her hair; there, the breeze played with her dark dress. There were twenty paintings of that same person, big and small – Japan had counted. If she hadn’t known better she’d have called her a younger Germany.

They made a long, slow lap around the room. The moment Japan walked out she was hurried to Italy’s studio. There she admired drawings of Romana, praised the yet unfinished portrait of Germany that glared from the easel, politely accepted Italy’s promise to paint Japan herself one day, and –

Two piercing, beautiful eyes looked deeply into Japan’s own.

She took a shaky step forward. The young woman gazed back at her, coolly surprised, coldly impassive. Japan’s breath caught in her throat. Those eyes – they seemed to stare into her soul, to peer at her heart, to judge her without words. And yet there was something oddly gentle about them, a blossoming warmth rippling beneath the cool regard that Japan couldn’t quite describe.

Italy had moved to her side. “Oh, I painted that myself, during the Renaissance! As you can see, it’s quite a large one – I got overenthusiastic about it, since the view was so beautiful and all. I’m really proud of it, but she didn’t like it.” Japan heard a long sigh. “So I ended up keeping it.”

In a display of terrible manners, Japan didn’t turn to acknowledge Italy. “She – ” Japan raced to absorb the details of those eyes, took in how they were double-lidded and blue-green and slanted towards the sharp nose, and couldn’t tear her eyes away. “Who – who is she?”

“Switzerland, of course!” Italy paused. “Haven’t you met?”

The young woman in the painting gazed out of its frame, her body turned slightly towards the two nations standing before her, her face angled towards the ground below her – yet her eyes looked straight into Japan’s. Her dark bodice clung to her torso, and her red skirt pooled delicately around her knees and on the grass she was sitting on. A pole arm dangled loosely from her fingers; a long blonde braid spilled over one narrow shoulder. In the distance, a craggy green mountain rose to break the tranquillity of the clear blue sky.

“No,” said Japan softly, “We haven’t met.”

And yet her heart seemed to flutter in her chest.

\---

It all happened very suddenly.

One day after the world had gone to war, Italy attempted to take a short cut back to Germany’s place. They sprinted across the Swiss countryside hand in hand, and Japan realised with each step that they’d made a mistake. Neither of them really knew where they were going, only that it might be a shorter route – Japan had been a fool to let Italy drag her into territory that didn’t belong to them, and perhaps if she hadn’t wanted to meet Switzerland so badly –

Then they were face to face.

There was no gentleness in Switzerland’s eyes, not when they were narrowed to slits in seething anger. All the cool beauty in her face had been crumpled by the scowl she wore, and every sliver of elegance that Japan had imagined was trampled underfoot when Switzerland stormed towards them. 

Roughly, the nation brandished her rifle in Italy’s face. “This is a neutral country! You have no right to be here!” she shouted, and Japan’s heart sank at the harshness in her voice.

As Switzerland and Italy argued before her, Japan’s face burned. Her mouth was dry, even though it had no right to be; she remembered how Italy had been kind enough to let her take the painting home, how she’d gazed at it in breathless admiration, how she’d dreamt of the young woman in the painting, the girl with a sweet voice and graceful movements and the most beautiful eyes in the world.

When Japan returned she’d have to tear up all the drawings she’d left lying around.

She was such an idiot.

\---

They sat beside each other for World Meetings.

It was the standard arrangement; Japan hadn’t planned it, for all she’d wanted was to avoid Switzerland for the rest of her days. They’d greet each other when they met – Japan would say “Good morning” or “Good afternoon” and Switzerland would nod – and that would be the end of it.

As the years crawled by, they grew used to each other. Once, when Japan arrived massaging her temples, Switzerland offered her an aspirin for the headache; two years later, Japan returned the favour. Sometimes when Japan quietly agreed with whatever America’s crazy new plan was, Switzerland would turn to her with a frown and encourage her to take her own stand; yet whenever Japan tried and failed to get her voice heard over the din of the latest argument, Switzerland would yell that everyone should shut up and listen. It was a strange relationship – but then Switzerland herself was an unusual person.

Occasionally, Japan’s gaze would float over to Switzerland when she wasn’t looking. There was no doubt that her sharp features had been subtly softened in Italy’s painting – in person, Switzerland’s face was more angular, her cheekbones were more prominent, and her jawline was stronger. She was still slender, but it seemed that all the suggestions of womanly curves on her painted body had been invented by Italy’s brush. Switzerland wasn’t traditionally beautiful; yet she was still attractive, in an androgynous way. 

Perhaps she wasn’t the person Japan had pictured her as.

But slowly, surely, Japan grew to like Switzerland even so.

\---

Japan always had an eye for beauty.

There were many things she disliked about her job, but the occasional travelling it required certainly wasn’t one of them. Each time she attended a meeting in another country she’d be sure to pack her camera – whenever she had a few free hours, she’d sling it around her neck and wander the streets and countryside, snapping photos. Sometimes she’d use the pictures as reference images for her sketches; other times she’d print and laminate them to hang on her walls at home.

This time, Japan had seen a sparkling river on the way to her hotel. It was only ten minutes away, she’d already slept on the plane, and she was determined to take some good photos of it before the meeting. The cold air swirled around her as she stepped out of her toasty hotel – Bern was chilly in October. Japan tugged her scarf tighter around her neck. 

As she walked to the Aare River, she wondered if she should wear that scarf to the meeting. It was a gift from China – that explained the panda pattern. It was a little silly, but as long as Japan took it off before anyone saw her…

Then she was at the river and all irrelevant thoughts flew from Japan’s mind. The water gleamed like glass, effortlessly reflecting the yellow-green scenery on its mirror-like surface. Her eyes wide, Japan scrambled to lift her camera and capture the image in front of her – she took one picture, then another, and then tilted the camera to include the nearby bridge even though there was someone standing there.

It was only when Japan paused to examine the photos that she realised who the young woman was.

At first she hesitated at the foot of the bridge, wondering if perhaps it’d be a better idea to simply avoid the other nation. Switzerland was gazing at the river and didn’t seem to have noticed her – at the very least, she hadn’t given any physical indication that she’d seen Japan – and for someone who consistently shunned social interaction, maybe being randomly approached would be an annoyance…

But Japan’s feet had carried her up the bridge and to Switzerland’s side, and it was too late to turn back. 

“Miss Sw – ” Japan glanced around and saw that they weren’t alone. “Miss Zwingli,” she said, “Good morning.”

When Switzerland looked at her, Japan couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. There was a deep tiredness in Switzerland’s eyes – her skin was slightly pale, and her long blonde hair had been left loose. The autumn wind seemed to be persistently blowing it into her face. 

“Good morning,” replied Switzerland, her gaze distant.

Japan swallowed. There were so many things that she’d like to ask, so many words that trembled on the tip of her tongue – “Are you alright”, “What’s the history of this river” – but for whatever reason she just couldn’t spit them out. 

Instead she said, “It’s – nice to see you,” and tried to ignore the blush warming her cheeks. “Um…” The full intensity of Switzerland’s attention had finally settled on her, and Japan fought the urge to look away. “I was taking pictures of the river. It’s really beautiful.”

Something shifted in Switzerland’s expression. “Yes, it is,” she said softly, turning to look at the river and resting an elbow on the railing. The breeze played with her hair; she tucked a few strands behind her ear. “It flows around the city. My brother likes coming here to swim in the summertime.” 

The turquoise water seemed to glow under the brightening sun, and Japan raised her camera to capture the view before her. She felt Switzerland’s eyes dart to her, and she flushed once more. It was unlikely that the other nation wished to entertain a tourist. Perhaps Japan should take her leave.

She was about to excuse herself when Switzerland met her eyes and asked, “Do you like bears?”

Japan tried not to look too confused. “Um, I…” Her mind was a blank.

“You’re wearing a panda scarf.”

It should have been impossible to turn a deeper shade of red, but Japan had the sinking feeling that she’d managed it. “Well, it’s – cute,” she mumbled, hoping the other nation didn’t find her too childish. “I, uh…” Maybe she was imagining it, but Switzerland’s gaze seemed to have softened. “I like cute things,” said Japan defensively. Then she remembered the original question. “And I like bears.”

In one swift movement, Switzerland raised her right wrist to glance at her watch. “We have two hours,” she said, “so I can take you to the _Bärengraben_.”

“The Bee – Beerangramen?”

“ _Bärengraben_. We have bears there.”

“Bears?” breathed Japan.

Switzerland folded her arms, shifting where she stood. “If you want to go, that is. It isn’t far from here, so it shouldn’t take long.”

And that was how Japan found herself gazing, entranced, at three fluffy brown bears by the Aare River. She was faintly aware of having squeaked when she’d first laid eyes on them, but in the face of such cuteness Japan had long since ceased to care about her public image. 

“Bern is the city of bears,” said Switzerland as Japan enthusiastically snapped photo after photo. There was a note of amusement in her voice. “You’ll see bears on flags, fountains, such things.” 

“Then I love Bern.” The bears were grappling with each other now, and it was an effort for Japan to remind herself that this was likely completely normal bear behaviour. She lowered her camera, and turned to Switzerland with a smile. “Thank you so much for taking me here. I’ve really enjoyed…”

Switzerland was blushing. 

Their eyes met. The other nation blinked rapidly, took a breath, and looked sharply away from Japan in the direction of the bears. 

“We can do this tomorrow if you’d like,” said Switzerland rapidly. 

Japan’s cheeks flooded with heat. “I’d really like that,” she said, her heart leaping – then a sudden thought flew into her mind and she realised why Switzerland seemed so flustered. 

“Thank you. I think Bern’s really beautiful, Miss Zwingli. And I’m sure the rest of Switzerland is just as lovely.” The words spilled from Japan’s mouth. To anyone nearby, what she’d just said seemed completely innocuous – yet there was no doubt that the other nation knew better. Within seconds Switzerland was flushing deeply and tilting her head to hide her red face. 

Between nations, this was likely the highest possible compliment.

Japan’s heart sped up in her chest. 

“…heid.” Switzerland mumbled something under her breath.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch…”

Then Switzerland was looking Japan straight in the eye, and despite her embarrassment Japan couldn’t bring herself to look away. “Just call me Adelheid,” said the other nation. Behind her, the trees’ leaves whispered in the cool autumn breeze. “In public, anyway.”

Japan’s lips curved in a smile. 

“Call me Sakura,” she said.

\---

The days flashed by.

Whenever they could spare a few hours, Switzerland showed Japan around Bern. When Japan stopped to praise the serene pond in the Rose Garden, Switzerland stood patiently by her side; when Japan craned her neck to gaze up at the eight-hundred-year-old clock tower, Switzerland quietly explained its history.

Japan took so many photos that running out of memory space became a distinct possibility. Yet more often than not she found herself admiring Bern with her own eyes, growing suddenly alert to the cool wind caressing her face and the warm earthy smell of the leaves and the soothing tones of Switzerland’s voice – it seemed almost a shame to disappear behind her camera when the world before her was so fresh and so beautiful.

Sometimes Japan had the sudden urge to turn and take a photo of Switzerland instead of the scenery before her. One night she’d discovered the hotel’s notepad and pencil inside a random drawer, and an odd impulse had driven her to take out her camera and sketch the image of Switzerland on the bridge. It was the first time that Japan had drawn the other nation since she’d properly met her – now she knew what Switzerland really looked like, and now she knew what kind of person Switzerland really was.

The next day Japan walked into the housekeeping lady whipping out her smartphone to take a picture of the drawing.

She hadn’t dared to draw Switzerland since then, but at the end of each day when Japan looked at the pictures she’d taken, she always found herself scrolling back to that one. There was something strained in Switzerland’s expression, something tense about the way she’d been leaning against the railing. Perhaps something had happened to upset her before Japan had arrived.

Japan couldn’t quite bring herself to ask – yet when they visited the Art Museum, another traitorous comment slipped from her lips. “I saw Alice’s painting of you,” she said, and her heart sank as Switzerland seemed to shrink back into her own personal space.

“I can’t believe she talked me into sitting in that spot for hours on end. That said, Alice really did capture the beauty of my countryside, though I…can’t recognise myself in that painting.” The other nation’s voice was carefully casual – yet there was a weight to her words that undermined her intent. One of her fingers tapped a quickening rhythm on a folded arm. 

Japan looked at Switzerland’s stiff posture and tightly drawn shoulders, and wished she hadn’t brought it up. “I suppose it doesn’t look exactly like you,” she said softly. Some women might appreciate being drawn as more conventionally attractive than they really were – yet Japan had the impression that Switzerland was not one of them. Perhaps it stung to be reminded of the rigid gender-related social expectations that had been levelled on all nations, male and female, for most of their lives. 

Two piercing, beautiful eyes looked deeply into Japan’s own.

“But what drew me to the painting was…your eyes.” 

Japan took a breath.

“And I think she painted them perfectly.”

Something shifted in the air. Switzerland’s eyes widened – then she seemed to relax, the tension flooding slowly from her entire body. They gazed at each other in silence for a while, and Japan suddenly realised that Switzerland’s eyes were the colour of the Aare River bathed in sunlight.

And though neither of them brought up the painting afterwards, Japan felt as though a knot between them had been gently, quietly teased free. 

She tried not to think about how she’d be gone by this time the next day. 

As the days flew by, Japan had grown familiar with Switzerland’s constant, lingering presence. They sat next to each other at meetings; they walked the streets of Bern side by side. When she was with Switzerland Japan felt lighter, as though the breeze could lift her from the ground and whisk her happily away. She still had to work – but it was almost like a real holiday. 

If only this could last forever.

\---

They saw the bears one last time.

“This makes me want to drop by _Ōkunoshima_ ,” sighed Japan as they finally turned their backs on the fluffy creatures, and began heading back. “Have you heard of it? I have an island off Hiroshima that’s filled with rabbits. It’s wonderful.”

Her scarf twisted in the cool breeze, folded in on itself, and fell harmlessly back against her chest. Switzerland’s eyes silently followed its movement.

“I’m sure it must be,” she said softly.

A warm silence settled comfortably between them. Japan gazed at the red-roofed white buildings, looked out at the calm river to her left, and finally at the centuries-old young woman walking by her side. She would miss Bern. 

And if a nation’s capital truly was their heart, Japan now had confirmation that Switzerland was beautiful both inside and out.

A smile danced on her lips. “Thank you so much,” she said. “I’ve really enjoyed this – all this, everything you’ve done for me. I think you have a wonderful capital city, and I’d love to return someday.”

Somewhere above them, a bird sang sweetly in the trees. Though her face reddened a little, Switzerland shook her head in response to Japan. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly, “so don’t worry about it.” 

By then Japan knew Switzerland well enough to understand that she was simply putting up a tough front. “But it meant a lot to me,” she replied.

Switzerland dipped her head slightly. “I’m glad.” There was an undercurrent of warmth in her voice, and Japan’s heart fluttered in her chest at the sound of it.

They lapsed into silence once more – yet Japan felt as though they were closer than ever. If she looked between them she’d see that their hands were mere centimetres apart – if she crossed that small distance to hold Switzerland’s hand, what would she see? What would she feel? 

Nearby, a woman cheerfully jogged over to another, calling her ‘Sister’; they kissed each other on the cheek three times before disappearing into another street. The display made something seize in Japan’s chest – people were showing affection so casually to each other, and there she was, lacking the courage to reach out and take a companion’s hand…

“I’d like to thank you too,” said Switzerland suddenly, and Japan quickly looked up in surprise.

For the first time that day, Switzerland’s gaze seemed distant. “A week ago, there was a car accident here in this city. A taxi driver fell asleep and crashed into a truck. I was there. I saw everything, and I tried to help the victims, but…” She blinked rapidly as her arms flew into a knot. “Everyone in the taxi died. I actually knew one of them – he was a part-timer at my favourite café. He always reminded me of Liechtenstein. And he was only twenty years old.” 

Japan reached out to touch Switzerland’s upper arm. Their eyes met. 

“I’m used to death,” said Switzerland. Her voice was tense, but steady. “We all are. But that morning when I met you, I couldn’t stop thinking about it – about how unfair it was that a young man who didn’t deserve it died just like that. About how pointless it all was if that was how everything was going to end.”

They’d stopped walking. Switzerland looked away for a moment, took a long breath, and seemingly pulled herself together. “I felt much better after you approached me.” Slowly, surely, she unfolded her arms. They slipped to her sides. “And these past few days, walking around my capital with you, I’ve been reminded of everything that I fought so hard to achieve. Life has always been unfair – but we have to fight against it, to strive toward a better future. I used to have nothing. Now, because of my own efforts, I’m in a better place than I’ve ever been before.” 

And for the first time, Switzerland’s lips curved in a small smile.

“Thank you for reminding me of that.”

The chilly autumn wind breathed on Japan’s skin, but her body was warm. Something stung in her eyes. 

“You’re right,” she said softly. “I’ve struggled too, and I’ve made mistakes and paid for them, but I’ve survived. We all have. It’s something to be proud of. So…you’re welcome.”

They stayed like that for a few silent moments, unmoving, looking into each others’ eyes with a swelling understanding –

And time moved on and they continued on their way.

\---

They took a picture together at the foot of the bridge, and Japan immediately knew she had to get it framed and displayed back home, for now she had a replacement for that painting she’d once loved so much. 

Then it was time to go. “Thank you so much,” said Japan, gazing at Switzerland and trying to imprint the image of those beautiful eyes in her memory forever. 

Switzerland’s expression softened. 

“Goodbye,” said Japan. Her voice seemed oddly small, and her mouth was a little dry. She swallowed. “Do you think we could…keep in touch?” 

“Of course,” said Switzerland hastily.

They stared at each other. There were so many words that Japan wanted to say, that she didn’t know how to say, that she couldn’t say even in the privacy of her own mind…

Slowly, hesitantly, Switzerland took a small step forward.

She was dizzily close, so near that they could easily reach out to hug each other. Japan’s breathing sped up.

“Is this…okay?” Switzerland’s voice was unnaturally halting. 

“Yeah.” Japan didn’t know what she was saying, but her chest ached and her hands were trembling and she longed to reach up and tuck a few loose strands of Switzerland’s hair behind her ear. “It’s okay.”

Switzerland’s eyes widened.

Then she gently placed a hand on Japan’s right shoulder and bent her head to touch Japan’s cheek with her own. Switzerland kissed the air beside one of Japan’s cheeks, then the other, and then – 

She leaned down, hesitated, and pressed her lips lightly to Japan’s right cheek. 

“Goodbye, Japan,” whispered Switzerland.

And then she was gone.

\---

Eight months later, Japan finally returned the kiss.

This time, it was on the lips.


End file.
